Different
by Guivana
Summary: Every action, every word, every thought that brought him closer to perfection was something to be cherished, to be glorified. He'd never had a moment's hesitation before... so why did this feel so strange?


He prided himself on a great many things. Intelligence and cunning. A deliciously twisted sense of humor (and oh, was it fun to shock them before he killed them). And naturally, power. Not just the powers he'd stolen - no, acquired. A thief was a shameful fool, trying to become more than what he is meant to be. But there's no shame in taking what others don't deserve - not when you can use it more fully than they could ever hope. Regardless, however, he knew that his true power was in his character. His willingness to do whatever was necessary to make himself great. And not a grudging willingness, like those who reluctantly stood up to him out of an imaginary moral obligation. No - every action, every word, every thought that brought him closer to perfection was something to be cherished, to be glorified. He'd never had a moment's hesitation before... so why did this feel so strange?

He looked down at the figure, sprawled across the table, her eyes staring wildly up at him as he pulled away the top of her head. He'd grown accustomed to picking apart the emotions in the eyes of those he dissected as the light faded. But she was different. Even as he looked down at her brain, the marvelous tool that held the secrets of immortality, all for the taking, she watched him. He easily recognized the fear. it was to be expected; none of them had been without fear. The hatred, too, was not so uncommon. The curiosity, though... that took him by surprise.

He was more than surprised when he found himself discussing philosophy with her. It could have been the blood loss. He knew that he was running out of time, and the fact that his body knew as well, he was certain was responsible for the daze he was in. The fact that she was alive didn't necessitate conversation. It felt vastly inappropriate (if ironic) to converse so casually with someone whose head he was poking around in. It didn't occur to him to question why he was concerned with etiquette.

Etiquette didn't seem to concern her. He was almost amused when she asked if he planned to eat her brain. But the humor was overridden once more by a peculiar and inexplicable need to adhere to propriety. This time he chided himself mentally for caring about strictly arbitrary rules. No one else, not even an entire society, had the right to govern his behavior. If he had ever been the type to give heed to others' rules, he wouldn't have killed all those others. But even as he reminded himself that he didn't care what anyone else thought, he answered her, unable to hold back the offense he'd taken at her suggestion.

His train of thought was abandoned as he discovered what he was looking for. He was unable to hold back his glee (and what reason did he have to hold it back?) as he discovered a new power. He stood and removed the knife she'd so thoughtfully put into him (a smirk twitched at his lips as he recalled her defiance with something akin to admiration), and he watched the wound heal with satisfaction. Mission accomplished.

But, as he moved to leave, something stopped him. He wasn't sure why, but, looking back at her, he felt a strangle feeling. Not quite guilt, but perhaps a sort of sympathy. It wasn't bravery, he reminded himself, that'd she'd displayed as he'd opened her head up. It wasn't really possible for an immortal to be brave, not in his mind. But her stoic attitude, more genuine than any calm facade he'd seen from her father, he felt deserved at least some semblance of dignity. And so, with a smile that was almost tender, he brought back her scalp, gently placing it atop her head. With a nod of what he was hesitant to admit was respect, he turned to leave.

He was once more surprised by her when she called after him, and he could not deny his curiosity as he turned back. But the question struck him like a fist to his gut. Kill her? He could never do that. Even if it were possible, he wasn't sure he'd ever want to. She was special and different, in a way no one else had been. Perhaps even more special than he was. No, he told himself harshly. It was only her power that mattered, and now he had it too. She could never be more special than him. Pushing the thought roughly from his mind, he exited.


End file.
